


To Illuminate the Dark

by notmissmarple



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Hale Family Feels, Hanukkah, Holidays, Jewish Holidays, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-03-01 19:59:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2785844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notmissmarple/pseuds/notmissmarple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s just a stupid holiday, and not even an important one, anyway. You’re the one who taught us that.” He spat the last words out at her, like it was Talia’s personal fault that the country had adopted Chanukah, the entire winter season, and Derek Fucking Hale’s birthday as Christmas Light.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Illuminate the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thanks to tropes, nny, bleep0bleep, howlnatural, and wolfie for helping me nudge this into shape.

**I**

Derek’s not really sure why Stiles is sitting at the kitchen table when he returns to the loft from a much-overdue grocery trip, but Derek stopped questioning it about two weeks after Stiles started occasionally appearing. ( _You need more scents around here, Derek_ or _I needed some quiet_ or _The loft has better light for homework_.) It’s been two more months since then and they’ve entered a sort of quiet routine, wherein Stiles completely ignores Derek’s boundaries, and Derek (tries to) completely ignore Stiles.

Stiles is flipping through a slim book, pausing now and then to make notes as he references one of the many papers spread out on the table.

“Did you know that there’s a full moon on Christmas next year?” The words are muffled around the pen cap Stiles has shoved in his mouth.

Derek shrugs, and nods towards the mess that has made its home in his kitchen. “If you’re staying for dinner, you’ll have to clean that up.”

(He’ll stay for dinner. He won’t clean it up.)

Derek turns away from where he’s finding room for everything in the freezer in time to see Stiles flick him off.

As is starting to happen more and more often, Derek gives in to the conversational stalemate first, and narrows his eyes at the papers and book. “What are you doing with the dates of the full moon, anyway?”

Stiles picks up the book and brandishes it aloft. “Calendars and planners were half off at the stand in the mall. Nothing like getting a new planner and filling it with important dates.”

Derek doesn’t even need to respond before Stiles is adding, “Okay, okay, not that I manage to keep using it past like February or whatever, but it feels nice to do. Like I’m settling in and setting myself up for a good year.”

And it sounds fucking hokey, but Derek can tell he believes it, just as he can tell the moment that Stiles realizes that just under “FULL MOON,” he’d written, “Derek’s Bday!!!” in big letters and gets embarrassed, shutting the planner and starting to shuffle the papers into a messy pile.

**I i**

Holidays were a massive undertaking in the Hale House, even the small ones. His family was huge, and they loved to be together - they loved to celebrate together. Derek and Cora had to give up their rooms when the family came (Laura got to keep _her_ room, because _Laura’s_ the oldest and deserves some privacy), and Derek would spend 20 minutes pouting and stomping about it before he remembered it meant he got to have a living room sleepover and that was way more cool than needing privacy to do whatever it was that Laura did in her room anyway, _ewww_. Because living room sleepovers meant late night movie fests, video games, and raiding the kitchen all night long.

He was pretty sure it didn’t get better than that, surrounded by light and warmth and family, and the smell of food coming from the kitchen.

Derek Hale was eight years old. As his mother, his Alpha, watched him, words tripping easily off his tongue as he lit candles to illuminate the darkness, he felt more than saw her pride, and the warmth wrapped him up on a cold winter’s night.

**I ii**

Stiles laughs awkwardly, shrugging it off, and Derek lets him. It’s not like Derek doesn’t know that if there’s something the Sheriff has access to, Stiles has likely accessed it. It’s not like Derek’s kept it a secret anyway - nobody’s asked, so there was nobody to tell.

But it’s a good hour later and halfway through their chicken parmesan before Stiles brings it up again. “Was it ever an issue?”

Derek’s not really sure what he’s talking about at first, and narrows his eyes as he uses his spoon to twirl a bit of spaghetti.

“You know, the whole Christmas Birthday _thing_. Not getting twice as many presents, not getting a day to yourself, everybody giving you presents wrapped in christmas paper…”

Derek doesn’t say anything as Stiles’ everlasting list of Problems With Holiday Birthdays continues. There’s something resembling a smirk on his face, but he manages to avoid asking whether Stiles’ own April birthday suffers from its proximity to Tax Day. Instead he just shakes his head, and if his voice is quieter than usual when he says, _no, no - we didn’t celebrate Christmas, so it was never an issue_ , then he’s just thankful that Stiles doesn’t question it.

**I iii**

“Jesus, Derek, why are you being such an _asshole_ about this?”

Derek ignored Laura’s pounding (she was holding back, at least; hell if Derek wanted to have to replace the bedroom door) as she continued to yell creative obscenities at him. They quieted down eventually, and he heard a soft thump as she leaned against the door and slid down to the floor. He imagined he could feel the heat of her back soaking through the door and meeting the heat of his own, but he didn’t get up from his place on the floor, just sat in the darkness of their crappy one-bedroom, and looked out the window at the side of the building next door.

It was starting to snow, and it brought Derek some bit of relief to know that the world would be covered in a wet miserable slush, so different from the winters they’d spent in Beacon HIlls. There were people there in New York, but they were people who didn’t know Derek or Laura; people who didn’t look at them with a sad sort of pity in their eyes, or offer up baked goods with a side of not-so-thinly veiled morbid curiosity.

He didn’t think he had fallen asleep, but there was an uncomfortable crick in his neck, and the night sky had turned bright with street lights reflecting off the falling snow. Laura wasn’t against the door anymore, but had fallen asleep in the broken-down armchair Derek had rescued their first week in New York. She’d curled in on herself, as if sleeping in a ball could protect her from the horrors of the world ( _from the horrors of her own family_ , Derek thought bitterly), and he dragged a blanket over from the couch, adding a layer of protection to her already strong armor.

The candles (electric, he reminded himself, not real) flickering on the windowsill reflected on Laura’s skin, and she shifted minutely under his hand as he tucked the blanket around her shoulders. He spent a few minutes cleaning up their half-eaten dinner and then headed out into the darkness, where he could pretend to be anything but Derek Hale, Beloved Oldest Son.

**Iiiii**

Derek expects more questions, more unsubtle hints from Stiles about the holidays and his birthday, and is almost disappointed when they don’t come.

Almost.

Stiles is still there most nights - physically, at least. Mentally, he’s somewhere else entirely, and Derek’s not sure if he should be relieved or frightened by the reprieve in Stiles’ usual inquisitive nature. It doesn’t take long before Stiles seems to be back to normal, happily pretending the awkward planner moment had never happened. Derek is happy to wallow in the peace, but something’s not right, and it’s a week or so after The Incident that he starts coming home to find Stiles’ scent permeating his apartment - not just the comfortable lived-in scent from spending evenings together that Derek has started to associate with home, but fresh, new, and nervous. Derek doesn’t say anything about it that night as they eat Chinese take-out directly from the containers ( _Yes, I know how to use CHOPSTICKS, Stiles_ , with an eye roll), or even the next, as Stiles pores over an assignment he’s done and re-done three times now as Derek resists the urge to slam his books shut. The third time he comes home to Stiles’ scent, though, he tries to bring it up. Subtly.

“What are you doing here?” _Shit. No. That didn’t come out right._

The glare Stiles gives him confirms his own feelings of idiocy, and Derek backtracks. “I mean, during the day. Not that you can’t- it’s fine if you-”

Stiles mercifully cuts him off with an awkward cough and a shake of his head. “I just- sorry about that. I needed a break and my dad’s on night shifts, so I didn’t want to go home.”

Stiles doesn’t look embarrassed or nervous, but his heart is pounding, and Derek wants to kick himself for not being able to tell whether it’s because Stiles is upset at being caught, or because he’s lying.

**iIiiii**

By fourteen, the living room sleepovers had lost some of their charm, and the lack of privacy for days on end had long since outweighed the benefits associated with holding the position of Reigning Mario Kart Champion.

Derek’s mother found him outside shooting baskets in the makeshift court his father had set up for him as an early birthday present. She didn’t say anything, but watched as he had his first miss of the night.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

There was a hum of acceptance from his mother’s direction, and he kept shooting.

And he kept missing. _Dammit_.

“Why do they all have to be here, anyway?”

She still didn’t answer, letting him take his aggression out on the poor defenseless basketball. It was okay - there were more in the garage.

“It’s just a stupid holiday, and not even an important one, anyway. You’re the one who taught us that.” He spat the last words out at her, like it was Talia’s personal fault that the country had adopted Chanukah, the entire winter season, and Derek Fucking Hale’s birthday as _Christmas Light_. He squeezed the basketball hard once more, and it let out a sad, low squeak as it released the last of its air. He looked down at what he’d done to it and something in him gave, his shoulders slumping.

“I did say that,” she said softly, “and it’s true. But pack is important as well, you know this. And I would never, ever,” she added, with a hint of laughter in her voice, “say your birthday was anything _but_ important.”

He rolled his eyes at that, but she’d achieved her goal and he was a little less tense, for the moment at least.

“Now come on, little bear, let’s go get some latkes before Cora eats them all.” She leaned over and placed a kiss on his head, something he’d outgrown around the same time he outgrew that childhood nickname, and he felt safe and calm, as if the candles they lit could actually banish the darkness around them

**iiIiiii**

Derek can hear Stiles’ heart racing before he’s even in the building, and he’s sliding the door to the loft open before he even realizes he’s taken the stairs. There’s no emergency when he gets there, though - nobody’s bleeding or hurt, and Stiles doesn’t look like he’s getting ready to go head to head with this week’s big bad. Derek takes a moment to catch his breath, and leans back, letting his head hit the wall with a quiet _thunk_. “Jesus Christ, Stiles. You scared the shit out of me.”

Stiles’ head jerks up like he’s only just realized that Derek is there, too, and clearly Derek’s returned the favor. Stiles absolutely does not yelp, but maybe startles a little, managing to right his chair just before it hits the point of no return, having threatened to take Stiles to the floor with it.

The chair leg bumps against the floor quietly seconds before a much louder crash, as Stiles drops what it was he was holding in his hands. Which is-

“Shit. Oh, god fucking damn balls-” Stiles is on the floor, picking it up and inspecting it, but seems to be reassured that nothing on the chanukiah is broken.

Derek, on the other hand, feels like he’s shattered into a million pieces.

**iiiIiiii**

It'd been years since Derek lit a menorah. He wasn’t about to start now. He couldn’t have, even if he’d wanted to, which he- he didn’t. He really didn’t.

If it were up to Derek, he and Laura wouldn’t have celebrated at all, back in that shitty apartment that was so far away from family and innocence and love and everything holidays _should_ be about.

But then it _was_ up to Derek. And the only thing he could bring himself to wish was that he still had Laura around to fucking argue with about it. Maybe even that god awful gaudy electric menorah that she’d found in some basement flea market.

The noise he made wasn’t quite a laugh and wasn’t quite a sob, but entirely the whimper of a long-lost son. He let it out before he gave in and _ran_.

**iiiiIiiii**

Their eyes meet, and Stiles swallows, setting the menorah on the table and crossing to Derek.“

I thought- I found it, in the stuff. The boxes that-” Derek reaches out to put a hand on Stiles’ arm, to stop Stiles from talking, to steady himself, to…

Stiles glances nervously at Derek, over at the clock, back at Derek.

“The others are coming - they didn’t say anything, because they weren’t sure you’d say yes, but they wanted to do a thing for the holidays, but it’s all, you know, with the Christmas, and I wanted you to have- it was one of the boxes my dad gave you, and I’m sorry, I took it, I got it cleaned and-” Derek cuts him off with a slight squeeze, and Stiles looks at him, eyes earnest and caring, and anything but the pity that Derek’s feared for so long.

It’s not nearly as awkward as Derek would have thought as he leans into Stiles’ body. “I-”

They’re interrupted as the door to the loft slides open, and then his space is full of people and noise and _things_. He wants to be annoyed - at the intrusion of his space, at the not bothering to ask, and especially at the obnoxious christmas music blaring from his sound system. But surrounded like this by warmth and light, it all fades to a reassuring background chatter.

The night flies by in a series of feelings more than experiences. Somebody’s in the kitchen making cookies, Scott and Kira are decorating his apartment with some _truly_ appalling garland, Isaac has set up a blanket nest on the floor and is gathering pillows from every corner of the apartment to add to the fortifications, and Stiles-

Derek looks around, and when he doesn’t see Stiles, listens. He follows the steady thrum of Stiles’ heart out to the balcony, where he’s setting up the chanukiah. Stiles doesn’t lift his head, but Derek can see a small smile forming on his face as he closes the door behind him.

“I read that you’re supposed to put the menorah in the window, so everybody can see it. Can’t really see in your windows from down there, so I thought I’d bring it out here.” Derek doesn’t bother pointing out that anybody who’ll be around the loft probably isn’t going to be there for a friendly holiday gathering and would likely come armed with weapons rather than doughnuts. He instead returns Stiles’ smile with one of his own, and sits across from where Stiles has arranged himself, holding his hand out for the matches that Stiles is fiddling with.

Stiles shakes his head and clasps his fingers around the box. Shifting so that both he and Derek are facing the chanukiah, he takes a deep breath and pins Derek down with his eyes. “Don’t be a dick, okay?”

Derek only has a second to wonder what Stiles is talking about before he’s lighting a match, and letting the words Derek hasn’t heard in years fall out of his mouth. _Baruch atah Adonai_ … and then Derek is joining in, feeling like he’s eight years old again, and surrounded by family.

They finish the words together, and Derek’s not really sure what the right way is to say thank you for all this, but Stiles is nervously rambling on about a song he used to learn the words and how he knows it’s dumb, but he wanted to be able to give Derek _something_ , and Derek leans forward to show him that he _has_ in the easiest way possible. He lets their lips come together in something that is far more good and true than Derek deserves.

He pulls back, just an inch, to look in Stiles’ eyes, and Stiles smiles, sliding his fingers between Derek’s, before closing the distance between them again. It’s warm and slow and almost innocent, something Derek thought he’d long ago lost, but is starting to think that maybe it was just missing. Maybe he _can_ deserve this.

It’s a few more minutes or maybe an hour before Stiles pulls back, breathing deeply and leaning his head against Derek’s. Stiles’ cheeks are flushed and his lips are full, and Derek feels a little out of breath watching him run his tongue over them. Stiles laughs like he knows what Derek’s thinking, and pulls back just a bit more.

“We should probably go back in.”

Derek nods in agreement. “Yeah, in.” They don’t move, though, basking in the flickering light of the candles.

Stiles stands first, reluctantly, holding a hand out to Derek to help him up off the floor. “C’mon, let’s get this over with.”

Derek stands, letting Stiles’ words about dreidls and not letting Jackson burn the building down wash over him. “Stiles- Thank you.” The words come so easily, and he can’t help the peace that he feels.

The look in Stiles’ eyes is just a little wicked as he grins and swings into the apartment, yelling over his shoulder, “Just wait until you see what I have planned for your birthday.”

And suddenly, _peace_ isn’t all that Derek’s feeling, following Stiles inside, into warmth, and light, and the future.

**Author's Note:**

> I know the shamash doesn’t count as its own candle, but 9 parts worked better than 8, so it gets its own section.
> 
> And yes, I actually pulled this stunt and used pop music to help learn the prayers you say over the Chanukah candles when my wife and I were dating. You can listen to it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pEqhE5N9N88


End file.
